This book is about a man named Carlos Castaneda and his anthropological/spiritual journey with Don Juan, a Yaqui Native American. It is a continuation of his previous book “The Teachings of Don Juan”, in which he embarks on journeys under both the guidance of Don Juan as well as the drug mescaline in the peyote plant. In this book, he does the same while also attempting to “see” as Don Juan calls it. This “seeing” is an altered state of perception which allows one to perceive a different nature of something, otherwise known as a “separate reality.” Much of the book is of Carlos Castaneda’s endeavors into this seeing with varying levels of success and failure.

This book is fascinating! Castaneda’s writing is great as it’s written as his notes during his meetings with Don Juan, so it’s both intuitive and direct as well as intricate and detailed. It’s very immersive, and his descriptions of his own spiritual naivety are very fun to read. Castaneda very successfully captures your attention through his narrative storytelling that’s reminiscent of a fairytale due both to his writing style and the actual events of the novel. There is one moment where another Don Juan’s sorcerer friend named Genaro leaps across rocks jutting out of a waterfall. The writing draws you in and it’s quite enjoyable from a reader’s perspective. There’s also a lot of neat lessons that Don Juan teaches throughout the book that Castaneda might not have necessarily picked up on.

One of these that I particularly enjoyed was when Castaneda was asking him about a concept Don Juan called “controlled folly.” Castaneda was baffled when Don Juan stated that nothing mattered to him, and was even more baffled when he said “I choose to live, and to laugh, not because it matters, but because that choice is the bent of my nature. The reason I say I choose is because I see, but it isn’t that I choose to live; my will makes me go on living in spite of anything I may see.” There is a lot of wisdom to be learned from this book, though don’t expect it to come all at once. I have learned few things from this book, though I have realized and remembered many things though and that is still meaningful.

I recommend this book to anyone who has an inkling of interest in perplexing yet enrapturing storytelling. Castaneda weaves together a story that captures the reader’s attention and sends it off into otherworldly realms of descriptive writing and thought-provoking insights. While it is enjoyable for me, it may not be enjoyable for everyone due to a bit of slow pacing as well as note-esque descriptions at times. Overall, though, I think it’s a fascinating read. Start with the first book and see how you like it. If you do, this one continues right from there and continues you on your journey through a separate reality.

Recently, I have picked up drawing. I am by no means a natural nor do I have much experience drawing in general. One thing I do, however, is recognize something that I believe needs to be recognized by more people. That is, what you create doesn’t have to be productive for it to be worthwhile. Sometimes I will bust out my little moleskin notebook in the middle of consumer economics and draw. That is not productive, and some may even go as far as to say that it is, in fact, counter-productive. But I’m doing well in that class, and I have lots of ideas coursing through my mind that need to come out onto paper as soon as possible.

In our culture, things that aren’t productive aren’t seen as worth the time. We’re so pushed into things that make money that we don’t take enough time for ourselves. Similarly, if an artist isn’t drawing for the purpose of making money, sometimes they think that they should be focusing on more “important pursuits”, i.e. – making money. I don’t think that monetizing your art is a bad thing, in fact I think that art commissions are a great way to make an income, not to mention that they’re good for artists getting their artwork out there. What I do think is that there should be a dramatic shift in how we view creativity in our society.

For one thing, more people need to realize that you don’t need to be good at something for it to be valuable. I’m an awful singer – I sing off key, I’m quite monotone, and I listen to country quite frequently. That doesn’t mean I don’t love it, though. I’ll hum along and bounce to John Denver down the school hallways any day. Similarly, with drawing, I have only been drawing for about a month and a half, so I don’t have much experience. What I do have is a fantastic time for every stroke of ink on paper. The joy of creation for me doesn’t come from making a fantastic work of art, but rather it is the immersion in the creation process itself that draws me in so much. I have a hard time getting inspiration, so I’ve gathered a few neat techniques to get ideas on what to draw. The first idea I had was music interpretation. In my drawing notebook, the first drawing that I did was modeled off of the song Gold Days by Sparklehorse. Another one I did was Space Song by Beach House. (Pictured below) I thoroughly enjoyed immersing myself in many medias of art and seeing what comes out on paper.

         

Another strategy I employ is interpreting dreams. Recently, I asked all of my friends via an Instagram story for their most intense dreams. I got many messages back, all of which have great mind fuel for surreal drawings waiting to happen. I’ve already drawn a couple dreams, fortunately. My favorite is Gazebo (pictured below).

I’ve found that art is something, at least for me, to be treasured. Not for it’s ability to be worth my time in terms of productivity, but to be worth my time in terms of personal fulfillment. For me, every minute I’m creating is a minute I have truly lived.

The air was thick with the scent of smallmouth bass, slowly decomposing organic matter, and hints of my own blood. I had just made it to an unofficial trail through a mostly untouched region of the forest preserve, and fortunately I’d scrapped together enough plantain leaves to form an antibiotic/anti-inflammatory poultice and yarrow buds to chew and apply inside my gash to clot the wound. While on my way to the path, I’d had a brush with a monstrously large lawn mower used to cut the prairie grass down. It still ached, but I hoped the pain would go away shortly.

The ground I walked on was mucky as the river was only feet away and my hands were caked in grime from grabbing at every tree branch in order to support myself. Without grabbing the surrounding flora, there is not any other way to shuffle through the beginning of this path without risking the chance of falling over. In my current shape, I did not want to risk that.

Though I could still hear the sound of the dam nearby, my concentration on the noises outside of my immediate surroundings slowly started to fade into the background. I was immediately focused on the here and now. Ogden’s roar fell into obscurity, and soon enough the rustling of the blossoming June leaves slowly started to take over. Newly sprouting greenery crawled across the forest floor, taking up any space it could possibly occupy and trying its best to occupy that which it could not. Various fungi rose up on living trees, and the occasional fallen maple or birch tree would be overcome by a brownish green tide of mushrooms and mold. Nature’s resplendence shone all around me. I needed to push deeper into the forest.

As I walked down the path, I found myself at the place I usually wind up. A dried stream with a couple fallen trees, rocks and stones, and one or two decomposing apples with a couple holes in them strewn about. At least they were being ecologically friendly, I suppose.

I usually come here to study or meditate, and sometimes I enjoyed wandering around and attempting to reconstruct scenarios in my head about the people who left the trash here. Today felt different, though. I felt like there was something that I needed to see. I looked around for the part of the path that’s less traveled by, and I eventually spotted it on the other side of the stream next to a tree with a massive burl on it. I took a couple steps back, and I ran down the path and leapt over the stream. I hit the ground with a thud, and I pushed myself up from my hands and knees and continued down the path.

I pushed through marshy growths of tall grass and the deciduous plants of the forest floor. I crouched and waddled under a sprawling bramble of dead and dying trees. I made my way through a grove of Anise Hyssops, taking a bit of time to marvel at the purplish pink display of wildflowers. I looked towards the river on one stretch of path, and when I turned my head the other way I found myself facing one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long, long time.

A crescent shaped clearing in the forest had opened up, and in place of the trees that had previously taken up all the space was an area of tall, leafy plants covering the forest floor. The slowly setting sun shone down and lit up the whole area while a mixed chorus of bugs and birds chirped around me. Cottonwood trees took up space in the middle of the crescent, and dozens upon dozens of their little white seedling tufts floated in space. It felt like a dream. I had temporarily left the drudgery of modern life and entered a small pocket of purity. I could not hear the sounds of planes and cars bustling around me, and I could not feel the wound on my skin nor the wounds in my mind. I know for certain that this secret place fans the flame of my love.

To conclude, I will quote Will (@wild_resistance). Excuse the lewdness, I just thought the quote was apt.

“I am beset on both sides by the impotent who would rape Lady Nature and pious idiots who fight for her untouched virginity. How relentlessly these fools argue! “Nature is mine!” says the rapist. “Nature is virgin!” cries the pious. Neither listen to her sensual song, watch her writhing rivers, and taste her fruits and waters. None give Lady Nature a voice; they only incessantly yell their own. Enough! Where are her true lovers? Where are the artists of life who wish only to make love to Nature? How irreverently the masses assert their will upon this woman! I cannot stand it. Lady Nature is singing her seductive song; I do not regret to say she has won my heart.”